


Sharpshooter

by myrmidryad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Oglaf
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blow Jobs, Curses, M/M, sort of cracky?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:42:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras, a prince hiding from his position with the goal of helping the common people, is faced with an unusual conundrum when he runs into Grantaire, whose cock has been cursed to sleep forever until kissed by a handsome prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharpshooter

**Author's Note:**

> Shamelessly inspired by the Oglaf comic of the same name, which you can find [here](http://oglaf.com/sharpshooter/). It's NSFW, but very funny. Almost no Oglaf comics are SFW, but that's part of the fun.

Enjolras had not expected commoners to be quite so…publically lewd. The tavern he and Courfeyrac have found is busy and loud, the perfect place to hide from any royal guards out searching for a missing prince. Enjolras’ hair has been dyed reddish-brown and cut short, a far cry from the long golden locks that made him so recognisable, and he’s wearing normal clothes that Courfeyrac procured for him before their escape.

He refuses to be made a pawn of the court, the royal advisors, or his family. Combeferre’s coming to meet them tomorrow and then they’ll all be gone, far away from anyone who’ll try to keep him under their thumb. In the meantime, he’ll have to adjust to living like a commoner. Like a normal person.

Courfeyrac returns with drinks, and Enjolras relaxes, leaning close to him to whisper. “Are normal people always this…” He nods at a couple at a table opposite theirs, two women kissing hungrily and letting their hands roam wherever they choose. Everything like that at home had been kept firmly hidden behind closed doors. Enjolras frowns and looks away, and finds Courfeyrac grinning.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it? A world away from the snobs at court. See anyone you fancy?”

“No!” Enjolras takes his drink and gulps at it, thankfully not choking. Courfeyrac just laughs and claps his shoulder.

“Loosen up, Enjolras. You’re not a prince anymore. No need to act like one.”

Enjolras makes an uncertain noise and lifts the tankard to his lips again. Unmarried members of the royal family are forbidden from having any romantic relationships in order to keep them ‘pure’ for their future spouses, but he’s been introduced to the physical side of things by a series of awkward experiences with royal prostitutes. Nothing about it seemed inspiring enough to produce the obvious desire he’s seen exhibited between the people in here all evening, but perhaps that’s where the romance comes in.

Courfeyrac keeps buying drinks, and by the third round, coaxes Enjolras into looking properly at the other customers. “She’s pretty,” he says admiringly, nodding to a woman laughing with her friends by the bar. “Wonderful smile. I bet she laughs in bed, isn’t that a good thought? What do you think?”

Enjolras shakes his head and looks around, trying to find someone he finds attractive. “Him,” he decides, pointing at a scruffy man who’s been drinking with a couple of other men for the past hour or so.

“The redhead?”

“No, the one with the face. Beardy face.”

Courfeyrac snorts, then tilts his head and considers the man. “Why him? Do you like the stubble?”

“Mmhm. And the…face.” Enjolras finishes his drink and squints across the room, trying to pinpoint what it is about the man that’s drawn his attention. “He’s strong, he’s not loud, he looks kind.”

“How do you know he’s strong?”

“Him and the other one – the not-the-readhead – they armwrestled. He has nice arms.”

Courfeyrac laughs. “My my my, Enjolras,” he teases. “What would your mother say?”

“She’d forbid me from talking to him,” Enjolras huffs.

“You should talk to him then,” Courfeyrac grins. He makes to push Enjolras out from behind the table but Enjolras scoots away, wide-eyed.

“No! I can’t talk to him!”

“Why not?”

“He’s not…he’s…I wouldn’t know what to say.” If he was blushing before that’s nothing to the way his face is burning now. The idea of going over to the stranger is mortifying enough, but what if he made some sort of proposition – offered to buy him a drink, for example – and was rejected? Worse still – what if the stranger accepted? 

“Awww, it’s easy,” Courfeyrac laughs. “Just ask if you can join them. And then sit next to him and lean into him and ask him a few questions, like his name, where he comes from, what he does, all that rubbish. And figure out if he likes you back.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “Not a chance.”

“Of him liking you back? Oh Enjolras, they don’t call you the Marble Prince for nothing, you know. Even without your hair, you’re very handsome.”

“Courfeyrac!”

“What? It’s true!” Courfeyrac leans back in his chair and smiles. “Ah, forget it. Walk before you can run and all that. It’d be a bit much to roll into bed with someone less than a week after escaping the palace, I suppose.”

“Just a bit. And lower your voice.” Enjolras settles down and casts the stranger another furtive glance. “Let’s go up to bed soon.”

“As you wish, my liege.”

 

“Look who it is! What do you think his game is then?”

Enjolras follows Courfeyrac’s gaze and raises his eyebrows when he sees the scruffy man from the tavern last night slumped against a large wooden sign that says ‘could YOU be a PRINCE? find out HERE!’. “Something to cheat money out of people, I expect.”

“Well I’m interested. Come on.”

Enjolras groans, but lets Courfeyrac grab his wrist and lead him over. The man straightens when he sees them coming and pulls on a crooked smile. “Gentlemen! Could you be heirs to a throne without even knowing it? I’ve got a foolproof way of finding out.”

“What’s the way?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Suck my cock.”

Enjolras stares, and Courfeyrac bursts out laughing. The man sighs, smile still in place. “I know how it sounds, believe me, but it’s the honest truth.”

“If you want your cock sucked there are plenty of brothels here,” Enjolras says, unimpressed. The smile slips from the man’s face, his lips parting for a moment before he shakes his head and replies.

“You don’t have to suck it, really. A kiss should do. Um.” His complexion is dark, but Enjolras is sure there’s a hint of red blooming in his cheeks under all that stubble. “I should probably explain. It makes more sense when I explain.”

“Oh please do.” Courfeyrac’s still grinning. “This is the best thing that’s happened all day.”

“You can’t have had a very interesting day,” the man snorts, leaning on his sign again. “My problem is that I’m cursed – never accidentally come on a warlock’s face, there’s some free advice for you right there. Bastard cursed me, and now unless my dick gets kissed by a handsome prince, I’m stuck with a life of sexual frustration and chastity.”

“It’s creative, I’ll give it that.” Courfeyrac looks him up and down. “What’s your name?”

“Grantaire, if it please you, good sirs.”

“Has anyone actually fallen for this?”

“Technically no, since there’s no trick for them to fall for. But a fair few have given it a shot.” He shrugs. “It’s not like they actually have to blow me. It’s hard to blow a limp dick, in any case.”

“So, they give you a kiss and stroll off on their merry way? That’s it? And you expect to suddenly pop a boner if they’re royalty in disguise?” Enjolras grabs Courfeyrac’s arm and digs his fingers in, a warning. Grantaire raises his eyebrows when he sees, but doesn’t mention it.

“Some go a little further than kissing. Mostly I try old faithful.” He wiggles the fingers of his right hand. “Never works though. Still, I’ve only been at this for a while, and I’m sure there’re plenty of bastard princes littered around the place. The king’s not exactly known for keeping it in his pants, after all. Give it a go,” he entreats. “You’ve got nothing to lose, and maybe a little something to gain.”

Courfeyrac looks at Enjolras and opens his mouth, which is Enjolras’ cue to jab his elbow sharply into Courfeyrac’s side. “No, thank you,” he says firmly. “Excuse us.” He drags Courfeyrac away, ignoring Grantaire’s parting plea.

“Talk it out, think it over, it’s not cheating if it’s consensual!”

“Don’t even think about it,” Enjolras hisses to Courfeyrac, marching him through the market with a death grip on his arm. “I did not sneak away from the palace and evade all those guards to blow my cover by sucking some conman’s cock, which probably isn’t cursed anyway!”

“You wanted to help people.” Courfeyrac pulls his arm away and yanks Enjolras to a stop, pulling him into the shade of a nearby tavern. “This is helping. You can help him.”

“I’m not doing it!”

“You liked the look of him last night.”

“I was drunk!”

“Go on, Enjolras, have a heart. Tell you what – I’ll try it first, and if I can’t get him up you’ll at least know for sure he’s cursed.”

Enjolras has to raise an eyebrow at that. “Your blowjobs are just that good, are they?”

Courfeyrac actually has the gall to wink. “Don’t knock me till you’ve tried me.” He drops the flirtatious look. “Come on, Enjolras. It sounds like a shitty curse.”

“And if it is true and I can cure him?” Enjolras shakes his head. “He’ll know who I am.”

“Say you’ll only do it if he swears to secrecy. Besides, Combeferre should be here in the next hour or so, and then we’ll be off anyway. You wanted to help people, didn’t you?”

“Not like this!”

“Only in ways that suit you then?” Courfeyrac challenges, and Enjolras hesitates. “If someone asks you to help by mucking out their horses, would you consider that beneath you?”

“I’d need help.” He tries to make a joke of it. “I doubt I’d do a very good job on my first try.”

“But you’d be willing to try.” Courfeyrac meets his eyes calmly. “What if someone needed you to help them by filling in for their absent singer? And they needed you to sing publically in front of a crowd?”

Enjolras squirms. “I’d try.”

“What makes this any different? It’s only sex, Enjolras. Hell, it’s barely that. All you have to do is –”

“Alright, alright!” Enjolras frowns and rubs his forehead before admitting in a quiet voice, “I really would’ve preferred to know him a little better first, that’s all.”

“If you like him that much, you can woo him afterwards. Fuck knows he’ll be grateful enough if you cure him. And I’ll still go first to check it’s not a trick, I don’t mind.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras sighs. Courfeyrac slings an arm around his waist and steers him back towards Grantaire’s sign.

“There now. Granted, it’s probably not how you thought your first quest would go, but at least it might be a successful one!”

“That he can’t tell anyone about.”

“You win some, you lose some.” Courfeyrac grins as Grantaire comes back into sight. “We’ve sorted our differences and can happily present you with two willing mouths.”

Grantaire breaks into a sunny smile. “Wonderful. My friend has a tent over here if you want to avoid public indecency.”

“Now that’s a line I haven’t heard before.” Courfeyrac lets go of Enjolras and puts his arm around Grantaire instead. “Lead the way.”

Grantaire’s friend is the redhead from last night, and his stall overflows with delicately carved ornaments and objects – bowls, combs, fans, all sorts. It’s beautiful work, and Enjolras lets Courfeyrac and Grantaire go into the back while he examines the stall’s contents. “Do you carve all these yourself?” he asks the redhead, who nods and smiles.

“Paint them too, the ones that need painting. Looking for anything in particular, sir?”

He has coin enough, and the intention to grow his hair long again, so he nods and picks up one of the combs. “How much are these?”

By the time Courfeyrac and Grantaire emerge, Enjolras has bought a comb in the shape of a leaping hound and is listening to the stallholder – Feuilly – describe how he made it. He breaks off when he sees Grantaire, his mouth twisting. “No luck?”

“Not for lack of enthusiasm, I assure you.” Grantaire nudges Courfeyrac, though his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wish you’d been around five months ago before the fucking warlock. I even offered to return the favour, but he’s too much a gentleman.”

“I’d feel like I was taking advantage.” Courfeyrac pats Grantaire’s shoulder and touches Enjolras’ elbow. “Your turn. Good luck.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath and nods, following Grantaire when he goes back into the tent. There’s almost no space, and Grantaire gives him an apologetic look. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It was obviously your partner’s idea, and you don’t have to do this for him.”

Enjolras hadn’t expected an offer like that, but he finds that it gives him the resolve he’d lacked till now. “Courfeyrac isn’t my partner, he’s my friend,” he says, going down on one knee and reaching for the loose ties of Grantaire’s trousers. “And I’m doing this for you.”

“Fuck.” Grantaire’s voice is soft, and when Enjolras glances up he bites his lip. “I confess,” he says, “I’d be like a rock already if it weren’t for this curse. You’re very beautiful.”

Enjolras looks down again, and hopes he isn’t blushing. “Thank you.” Grantaire’s cock is pale brown, uncut and utterly limp, the hair around it coarse and black. Nothing particularly special, which is something of a relief, and Enjolras takes a moment just to look before leaning forward and kissing it. Nothing happens, and he looks up at Grantaire. “You’re sure you were cursed?”

“The magic glowing light and tingling sensation are kind of hard to forget, and the effect is very obvious.” Grantaire sighs. “Don’t worry about it, no one’s been a prince so far, it probably wasn’t going to be you.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Enjolras mutters, and grabs Grantaire’s thigh when he makes to step backwards. “Let me try properly.” This time he takes the whole dick into his mouth, and Grantaire makes a shocked, muffled sound. When Enjolras looks up, lips still wrapped around Grantaire’s cock, he sees that it’s because Grantaire’s hand is pressed over his mouth.

And miracle of miracles, the cock in Enjolras’ mouth is beginning to swell. He lets it slip out and watches as it grows half-hard, and Grantaire squeaks. “Fuck!”

“Good. Right, listen.” Enjolras stands up and shakes Grantaire’s shoulder till he looks up at him, eyes round as saucers. “Don’t you dare tell anyone I’m a prince, alright? I did this for you, you do that for me, deal?”

“Mmm!” Grantaire’s hand slips from his mouth and curls around his cock. “Oh shit, that’s…fuck, I haven’t been hard in months, I’ll do anything you want. Can I kiss you?”

“I…” Enjolras blinks, taken aback. “Well. If you like?”

“Thank you.” Grantaire’s free hand wraps around the back of Enjolras’ neck and pulls him forward into a bruising kiss that makes goosebumps erupt down Enjolras’ arms and back. “Thank you,” Grantaire breathes, and kisses him again. “Thank you. Can I tell Feuilly and Bahorel? They won’t tell, but I can’t keep it from them, please, they’ll know anyway. Fuck, please can I tell them?”

There’s something about the combination of those words with the desperation in Grantaire’s voice and the raw, needy edge to his kisses that makes something hot twist in Enjolras’ stomach, and on Grantaire’s next kiss he opens his mouth and kisses back. “Fine,” he agrees, a little breathless. “No one else, just your friends.”

“You’re really a prince.” Grantaire moans softly, arching away with his eyes closed, hand moving furiously between them. “Oh fuck, fuck…”

Enjolras can feel his heart thudding, and he loops an arm over Grantaire’s shoulder to keep him close, spitting into his other hand and reaching between them to push Grantaire’s out of the way for a moment. “Here, that can’t be good.”

“Five and a half _months_ ,” Grantaire gasps as Enjolras’ hand wraps around him, and the hand on the back of Enjolras’ neck spasms. “It’s fucking _heaven_ , you have no idea.” His fingers slot between Enjolras’ and they stroke him together, Grantaire leading the pace at breakneck speed until he whines and comes suddenly, shuddering all over and holding onto Enjolras for dear life.

It’s absurdly hot, but Enjolras tries to put that out of his mind as he lowers Grantaire carefully to his knees, following him down and grimacing when he sees that the majority of the come went on his trousers. “Damn.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire pants, finally letting go of Enjolras and sinking back on his thighs. “Your highness,” he adds after a second.

“Don’t,” Enjolras warns. “No one’s to know, remember?”

“Right, yes, I remember.” Grantaire nods, and his eyes fall on the bulge in Enjolras’ trousers. “Let me at least return the favour,” he says quickly, eyes flicking back up to Enjolras’ face. “Please, let me at least do that.” He’s already reaching out, but Enjolras catches his hand and shakes his head. The dismay in Grantaire’s expression is shocking, and Enjolras squeezes his fingers to try and soften what is apparently a blow.

“Not like this.” It’s not what he meant to say at all, but Grantaire doesn’t look suspicious or angry, so Enjolras takes a breath and forges on. “I’m leaving town soon, today, and I wouldn’t…I’d rather know you better before doing anything like that.”

“I see.” Grantaire sounds disappointed more than anything else, pulling his hand away, and Enjolras hastens to reassure him.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, really, but I’m –” 

“If you were staying, would you consider it?” Grantaire interrupts, tucking himself back into his trousers.

“If I had the chance to get to know you, you mean?” Enjolras swallows. “I’d like to…I’d buy you a drink. And talk. And then, maybe, we could…” He gestures awkwardly between them, but it’s worth it for the way Grantaire smiles. He clears his throat and stands up, offering Grantaire a hand as well. On his way, Grantaire notices Enjolras’ trousers and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, wrinkling his nose.

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking, sorry.” He wipes the come off, and Enjolras manages a smile.

“Well you said it had been months. I probably wouldn’t have been thinking clearly either.”

Grantaire laughs, and gives him a look that could almost be shy before suddenly hugging him. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“You’re welcome.” Enjolras hugs him back for a few seconds, and they let go at the same time. Enjolras slips out first, nods to Feuilly and lets Courfeyrac take his arm as they leave.

“It worked?” Courfeyrac guesses.

“It worked.” Enjolras sighs. “Let’s go and see if Combeferre’s here yet.”

Their friend is waiting by the tavern stables with a newly-bought donkey called Rhubarb and packs of everything they’ll need for travelling on the road. They eat before leaving, one last meal before heading out, and they’re only a short way out of town before someone shouts behind them.

They all turn, and Enjolras’ heart jumps into his throat when he realises that the figure running towards them is Grantaire. “Wait!” he shouts again, and they obligingly stay where they are as he hurries up and finally reaches them, too out of breath for a minute to talk. He’s wearing a backpack like they are, and Enjolras doesn’t dare follow that observation to any conclusions. “Sorry,” Grantaire huffs. “Sorry, I just wanted…oh, hello.” He smiles and waves at Combeferre, who exchanges an amused look with Courfeyrac.

“This is Combeferre,” Enjolras supplies.

“Great. That’s great. Hi again.” He straightens up, shirt sticking to his chest with sweat. “Um. I just wondered if you’d mind some company on the road.”

“You’re going south?” Courfeyrac asks, sounding entirely too pleased.

Grantaire nods. “I’ve got family I haven’t seen for a while, and friends too. Feuilly and Bahorel’ll catch up eventually – they move their stalls on with the market when it shifts. I’d been putting off going anywhere because of the curse, but since…well.” He meets Enjolras’ eyes and swallows. “Maybe I could buy you a drink,” he offers. “Next inn we come to.”

Butterflies flutter in Enjolras’ chest, and he nods. “I’d like that.” Grantaire practically beams, and Combeferre clicks his tongue to get Rhubarb moving again. “Grantaire,” Enjolras says as they fall in step together. “This is Combeferre, one of my best friends.”

“And you’re the man with the cursed cock.” Combeferre smiles and shakes Grantaire’s hand. “I’m sure that’s quite a story, if you don’t mind telling it.”

“I love a captive audience,” Grantaire grins, and tells them about a foolish mistake that led to a terrible curse but had a happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe I just wrote this.
> 
> But hey, if you enjoyed it, please consider [buying me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A221HQ9) <3


End file.
